


Where Demons Hide

by 3988Akasha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bass continues to do things even though he knows he doesn't care. He never cared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Demons Hide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steph_Schell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steph_Schell/gifts), [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/gifts).



> It seemed time to join the angst fest the rest of you seem to be having so...yeah.

He eats because he remembers he used to eat three times a day. He’s not hungry anymore, forgot what it felt to be hungry. He's quit caring what the food is and it all tastes the same to him, most of it he chokes down with whiskey or bourbon or whatever liquor is nearest him at the time. He sleeps because he’s fairly certain Jeremy laces the liquor with valerian. He doesn’t care enough to reprimanded Jeremy for it and part of him thinks he might thank him some day for taking the trouble to drug him into unconsciousness.

He cleans his uniform each night, though. He ensures the brass buttons are still shiny, polishes the leather on his shoulders, on his belt. He takes pains with his swords, sharpens them each night, before he eats whatever food is brought into him. He knows he is a ghost, a phantom, an illusion, a mirage. He knows the men speak about it when they think he can’t hear them. He hears every word and realizes on some abstract level of his consciousness that he should care, but he doesn’t. He can tell when they’ve been talking about Miles because he’s not stupid. He knows what it means when the room goes silent upon his entrance. He knows the pitying looks he receives from some of the men, the ones who have lost someone they love. He also knows the less agreeable looks he receives from others, the ones who covet his position, his power, the ones who never understood, the ones who never would.

He knows he would gladly hand it over to someone else. He knows no one will ask. He is still the President of the Republic and the figure head of an ideal can never die. He understands that’s why his withdrawn melancholy is not only tolerated, but excused. He wanders the hallways of his symbol of power during the early hours of the morning, when the effects of the valerian have worn off, when there is no one around to see him, to observe his descent. His eyes don’t see anything, even as they take in everything around him. His eyes, wide, blue, unblinking, stare blankly at the walls.

He hears him sometimes, in the hours between sleep and reality. He even smiles like it’s a reflexive action, bored into his brain even now. He feels happy during those moments, during the time when he imagines the sound Miles’ footsteps in the hallway, hallucinates his boots thrown haphazardly near the fireplace, waiting to be polished. He moves from the bed then, and the illusion of Miles vanishes before he can blink his eyes, which he does slowly so he can watch the image of Miles shimmer for a moment, like an angel, before it disappears from his mind. He sits before the fire, his own boots in his hand, and polishes his boots, making them the shiniest boots in the history of the world. He knows this is where Jeremy will find him when it’s time for another meal, for another day, for another cycle.

He counts the days in a notebook he keeps hidden in the top drawer of his desk.

He keeps the key around his neck on a chain Miles gave to him before the blackout.

He refuses to believe that Miles will never return to him.

He continues to count the days in his notebook, ignoring the diminishing number of blank pages.

He sits in front of the fire and waits for Miles to return.

He knows waiting is futile.

He knows Miles isn’t coming back.

He continues to wait for something he knows will never happen.

  **~FIN~**

**Author's Note:**

> Good? Bad? 
> 
> Kinda a more experimental type of writing from me.
> 
> Drop me a line.
> 
> Read the sequel [And Evil Men Fear to Go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/673419)


End file.
